The Janus Thickey Ward
by Max Neverland
Summary: Neville strode down the familiar street, bumping shoulders with busy shoppers who were all hurrying to get out of the rain. He blended in with the muggle crowd in his jeans and heavy jacket, and his dark hair – desperately in need of a trim – was plastered to his forehead. His wand was carefully tucked away in a side pocket of his charmed backpack where he could easily reach it...


**THE JANUS THICKEY WARD**

Neville strode down the familiar street, bumping shoulders with busy shoppers who were all hurrying to get out of the rain. He blended in with the muggle crowd in his jeans and heavy jacket, and his dark hair – desperately in need of a trim – was plastered to his forehead. His wand was carefully tucked away in a side pocket of his charmed backpack where he could easily reach it. There were grazes on his knuckles and an old bruise was fading on his jaw, but despite his rough appearance he still grinned broadly.

As he neared the run-down _Purge & Dowse Ltd_ department store, he made a beeline towards the horrible mannequins displayed in its dusty windows. He feigned seeking shelter under the eaves, shoving his hands into his pockets and tucking his chin into his collar as he leaned against the faded red brick walls. After a minute, he threw the oblivious muggles a quick look and then fixed his gaze on one particularly ugly mannequin posing in the window.

"Longbottom."

The mannequin's head jerked down as if it were about to fall off and then jerked back up again in a spasmodic nod. Neville gave the street a last careful look, making sure that no one was watching him, and then stepped straight through the glass.

St Mungo's reception room was in peak hour. Every rickety chair was filled with a witch or wizard in various states of distress; furry and scaly faces reminiscent of Hermione Granger in second year, limbs in the wrong places or missing altogether, and even one wizard was sitting tangled in a large potted plant appearing particularly regretful. Other normal-looking people were dotted throughout the aisles too; friends and family there for support, and green-robed Healers with the symbol of a crossed wand and bone emblazoned on their chests. The Healers all carried clipboards and every so often they would whisk someone away up the stairs or elevator.

Several Healers and the blonde witch at the enquiries desk called greetings to Neville, which he returned with familiarity as he headed to the doors that lead to the main area of the hospital on the ground floor. He spent the next three hours combing through the wards visiting the patients who were recovering from the Battle of Hogwarts, referring to a roll of parchment he pulled from his backpack that had all their names and room numbers written down. He had a collection of miniature potted plants in his backpack which he left with each patient to brighten up their rooms.

Luna had offered to come with him but this was something he had to do alone. It had been just two weeks since the second wizarding war had ended. Voldemort was dead, Azkaban was filled to the brim, and the Aurors were hunting down the last of the Death Eaters. In just a few days, Neville would be joining them too, recruited as a brand new Auror by the Acting Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, in recognition of his leadership in Dumbledore's Army and his service in the Battle of Hogwarts.

Never in Neville's wildest dreams had he thought he would become an Auror, especially at only seventeen years old. No longer was he the scared, clumsy little boy who was bullied incessantly with a toad for his best friend. After years of struggling, he had found his place in the Wizarding world among some of the greatest names in history. Neville himself had wielded the famous sword of Godric Gryffindor and beheaded Voldemort's giant snake, Nagini, thus allowing Harry Potter to defeat the Dark Lord which apparently would have been impossible otherwise. He was a little fuzzy on the details but Harry's word was good enough for him.

His head held high, Neville trotted up the next flight of stairs to the fourth floor. He paused at the door to the Janus Thickey Ward and studied his reflection in the window. It had been months since he had last been here, caught up as he was in the underground fighting at Hogwarts. His face was stripped off the last of his baby fat and there was a confident glint in his eye had had never had before.

He was just about to open the door when it opened from the other side and he nearly collided with Gilderoy Lockhart and his Healer, Miriam Strout. Lockhart, busy waving his battered peacock feather quill about and chattering excitedly, paid no attention to Neville but Strout flashed him a quick smile.

"I've just taking Gilderoy for a walk in the gardens and then we'll be right back," she told him, holding the door open for him.

"Thanks, Miriam," he replied, grasping the door handle.

They disappeared down the corridor, Lockhart childishly bouncing along with his blue dressing gown flapping like bird wings as Strout chided him. Neville entered the room and shut the door securely behind him.

The curtains were drawn around Agnes' bed space but Neville could hear her growling softly from within. Lockhart's space was covered in photographs of himself, most of them autographed. A side table was stacked high with two piles of envelopes; one pile was addressed to Lockhart and one was addressed to a number of witches and wizards in Lockhart's childish handwriting. At the very end of the room, hidden behind more curtains, were two further bed spaces and the sole window.

Neville padded through the room – Agnes barked twice as he passed her curtains – and went right to the end. He peeled the curtain aside. Beyond were two hospital beds; a night stand stood between them with an old _Daily Prophet_ resting on top. The long window sill was laden with potted plants and framed photographs of Neville at various ages. A larger frame towered above the rest showing a smiling baby Neville in the arms of his parents.

"Hi, Mum. Hi, Dad."

Frank Longbottom paid Neville no heed and remained sitting on his bed staring at the wall. Alice Longbottom turned from the window at the sound of his voice and gazed absently in his direction. They were both so thin and frail, their hospital gowns hanging like tents on their skeletal frames. Their hollow eyes were sunk deep in their narrow faces and their hair was white and wispy, despite how young they still were. The Cruciatus Curse had aged them decades.

Neville gave his parents a wide, warm smile and began to speak. He didn't know if they could hear him, let alone understand, but he let the words flow out of him as he spoke about all that had happened at Hogwarts that year. He told them about heading Dumbledore's Army with Ginny and Luna, and the underground fighting from the Room of Requirement. He explained to them as best as he could about what Harry, Ron and Hermione had been doing throughout that time, and then picked up the pace again when he came to the part where the trio arrived back at Hogwarts. There was notable pride in his voice as he told them of how he had fought against the Death Eaters and beheaded Nagini himself after pulling the sword of Godric Gryffindor out of the Sorting Hat. His composure splintered when he described how Molly Weasley had killed Bellatrix Lestrange but he regained it to finish the tale with the news of Voldemort's death and his new career as an Auror.

As he talked, he pulled numerous items from his charmed backpack. He replaced the potted plants with fresh ones, magically dusted the photo frames, and draped bright quilts in Gryffindor colours over the dreary hospital bedsheets. He took away the old newspaper and left a huge jar of Honeydukes candy in its place. Frank did not seem to know he was there, not even when Neville helped him off the bed so he could put the quilt down, but Alice sometimes looked at him, her expression vague but her eyes still following him. When he had readied the room, Neville crossed over to the tall corner cupboard and arrange the clothes from his backpack into it.

It wasn't strange for Neville to dress his parents. He hated seeing them in those old hospital gowns and so he made sure to bring fresh clothing for them every time he visited and he would help them get dressed. His father didn't care about the soft slacks and knit sweaters Neville brought for him and he didn't even seem to notice Neville brushing his hair, but Alice always seemed as pleased as she could be with the frilly dresses. She stood in the middle of the bed space now in a childish pink dress, running her hands over the frilly collar with a faraway look in her eyes. Neville stood behind her and gently brushed her hair, taking care not to pull out any of the delicate strands. He tied it up with a pink ribbon on top of her head. When he was done, Neville steered her towards the long mirror fixed to the inside of the cupboard door.

"You look beautiful, Mum."

Alice turned around to cup his cheek in her hand, and smiled.


End file.
